


The Arc

by agentsimmons



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1940s, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Noir, Don't Examine This Too Closely, Fast Build, Gay Bruce Banner, Gay Tony Stark, I Tried, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Internalized Homophobia, Lust at First Sight, M/M, Minor Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Period-Typical Homophobia, Science Boyfriends, Science Bros, Strangers to Lovers, at least a little implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-13
Updated: 2016-07-13
Packaged: 2018-07-23 12:48:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7463883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentsimmons/pseuds/agentsimmons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><strike>Of all the gin joints</strike> Bruce Banner has been chasing leads to clear his name of a heinous crime against his best friend. He gets more than he planned for when his most recent steer takes him to The Arc in Manhattan and he meets The Mechanic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Arc

**Author's Note:**

> This is my entry for sciencebrosweek prompt: The Spark. 
> 
> Which for some reason conjured up an image of an old ritzy nightclub scene from an Old Hollywood film so... I decided to write an AU prelude of sorts that takes place in approximately 1940 full of Old Hollywood film tropes (like, "hey I just met you and this is crazy, but we're the heroes so obviously let's kiss already because we only have so many frames in the budget" or, "here have a cigarette. *takes one drag* *snuffs out* "here have another one.") and some 30s/40s slang from 'temperamental man' to the ever-offensive 'free white and twenty-one'. Only it's also not like an Old Hollywood film (or at least one from 1940) because there's explicit language and homosexuality. Hmm. My brain needs to stop probably. This isn't even the weirdest thing you'll see from me this week. It like... gets progressively weirder from here on out. 
> 
> As I said, it's a prelude as in there's no actual resolution, just the set up for "a beautiful friendship" 
> 
> Warning: It is implied that Betty was assaulted - which I really didn't want to do and almost deleted it like ten times, but it's 'inspired' by when Nightmare forced himself on Betty in the dream realm.

Bruce looked around the ritzy nightclub, with casual eyes. The Arc: it was the swankiest and most renowned in the whole city. He took another small drag of his cigarette and then snuffed it out in the complimentary ashtray on his table. He then brought his martini to his lips and took a very small sip, hating the taste and the way it slid down his throat like fire.

"For a guy who hates the taste of alcohol, you sure picked a hell of a place to spend a Saturday evening."

He snorted softly and brought the glass back down to the table. He gave a small shake of his head and focused his eyes to see the sultry redhead, adorned in her usual black, looking at him with a slight upward quirk of her lips and a good deal of calculating curiosity in her green eyes.

"Natasha," he said her name without inflection. He then looked back around the room, taking in the sights of couples and crooks, some filling both category and probably with more than one person at a time. A myriad of double-crosses in the works no doubt.

The most recent standard filled the space with a decent enough band and the kind of silky-voiced, blue-eyed crooner that would make any female or temperamental man in the room feel like a sizzling egg. Of course it all sounded like noise to him. He wasn't musically inclined and as many joints as he'd been in over the past couple of years, one song and one singer started to sound about the same as the next.

Still this place was admittedly nicer than any others he'd been in. The notoriety was understandable. It sat on the top two floors and roof of Stark Towers in the heart of Manhattan. Anyone who was anyone was there from the lower-class that managed to snag an entrance to the high society set of fops and debutantes with their furs and diamonds.

"This is a pretty nice set up," he said, finally looking back at her. He rolled his tongue around in his cheek considering. "Whose arm are you hanging off these days?" She smirked and sauntered over to sit in one of the empty seats at his table.

"Could still be yours," she said with a tilt of her head as she pulled out a cigarette. "My offers are usually only good once," he reached over to give her a light and then leaned back again, "but I'm willing to make an exception for a guy like you."

"A guy like me," he echoed with a snort. "I think you know that's the crux of the problem."

She blew out a puff of smoke and tilted her head the opposite direction, clearly studying him. Her eyes ran over his face and then down to his hands. He looked down to see they had clenched without his realizing it.

"Maybe," she said before snuffing out her cigarette. "But something tells me you're still the kind of guy who wants a little house somewhere with enough space for a couple kids and a dog."

His throat went dry. He took another sip of his god-awful martini and let it burn through the accusation, let the taste of it dredge up the anger always simmering somewhere in his chest. He set the glass back down hard enough for her to startle.

"That man doesn't exist, Natasha and you know it. That man doesn't get what he wants." He sighed and shook his head. "Honestly, he never did."

"You keep telling yourself that," she said with a shrug. "Yet here you are. You wouldn't be still chasing leads if you didn't think there was a chance to go back to her and have that. You wouldn't be the first."

"I just want peace," he said tiredly. Usually she was right on the money, but with this her judgment was muddled and he really wasn't sure what it was she thought he could give her. "I want to stop looking over my shoulder. I just... I just want to know the truth."

"Take it from someone who knows, Bruce," she said, her lips pulled into a tight line. "A lot of people say that until they find it. The truth usually isn't very pretty. And it rarely brings peace." He didn't say anything, just took a long glance toward the open floor, where couples were dancing to the orchestra. At some point the singer had stepped away. "So you never answered my question." He furrowed his brow and slowly looked back at her. "Why are you here?"

"I'm looking for someone," he answered. "I got a tip from my pal Rick in Paris." She arched one eyebrow. "He said my best bet is some guy with the moniker The Mechanic." Her other eyebrow joined its partner. "I take it you know who he is?"

"I know him," she said evenly. "And you'd be better off not pulling that thread. The Mechanic isn't exactly the kind of guy you get tangled up with, Bruce."

"Who said anything about getting tangled up," he replied with a shrug, attempting to ignore her warnings and his own misgivings.

He glanced across the room to avoid meeting her gaze only for his eyes to stop on a man dressed to the nines in a sharp, black pinstripe suit accented with a vibrant blue tie and matching pocket handkerchief. The man was openly observing him from where he stood, arms crossed, near the orchestra. Bruce suddenly felt a little pedestrian in his weathered brown dinner suit.

Another man, portlier in stature and looking a good deal like a bodyguard, came up to him and was saying something discreetly. Blue tie nodded, not removing his gaze in Bruce's direction, before speaking as well. The portlier man then nodded in return and left again. Bruce tore his gaze away and back toward Natasha.

"I don't know what Rick told you about this guy," she was still trying to dissuade him, "but I wouldn't trust his call. The Mechanic isn't the guy you need for this."

"Now, really Natasha." Bruce looked to see blue tie suddenly near the table. "Are you trying to give this poor guy a bum steer?" He shook his head. Bruce saw her eye him shrewdly. "The Mechanic is always the guy you need." The man gave him a sharp smile and piercing look and Bruce slowly tilted his head back on his shoulders, aware he was baring his neck a little as he studied him.

"The Mechanic, I presume?"

"One and only," he answered, smile becoming something less threatening, as he held up his hands in a sweeping motion up his body as if presenting himself. "Now, what can I do for you?"

"Answer carefully, Bruce," Natasha warned.

"Don't you have somewhere else to be?" The Mechanic looked at her with a furrowed brow and one cheek puffed out in displeasure.

"Not particularly," she answered with a quirk of her lips. Natasha was as obstinate as ever apparently.

The Mechanic looked back at him with a put-upon sigh. Bruce gave an amused chortle at the exchange. But since he did want to speak with the guy Rick had suggested, preferably alone, he decided to say so. Or was on the verge of saying so when The Mechanic's eyes roamed around the place and widened with an epiphanic expression. He glanced back at Natasha.

"Actually, you do have something to do," he said and she raised an eyebrow. "Fetch Barnes. I think I saw him hanging out around the roulette tables." Bruce saw Natasha's eyes dart toward the same direction and then give a nod.

"Don't say I didn't give you fair warning," she said to Bruce before sauntering away.

"That woman has poison dripping out of every pore," The Mechanic said with a shake of his head. "But she's the best escort I've had since opening this place."

"She's mostly harmless really," Bruce replied. "When she's not asking me for a sham marriage." He shook his own head. When he glanced back at The Mechanic he was already looking at him with a strange, studious expression. "Since you seemed to object to Natasha steering me clear of you," Bruce decided to get to the point, "is it safe to assume you'll give me a few minutes to discuss why it is I came looking for you in the first place?"

"Absolutely," he answered, blinking. He then hedged, "But not here. My office."

"That's preferable," Bruce didn't argue.

He stood to his feet and followed him across the expanse of the room to where there was a set of elevators. However, they made a stop right before, near the piano where a black man played and a young kid with blonde hair was chatting congenially with him. Said kid was so scrawny Bruce had to study him hard because he wasn't really sure if he was legal. 

"Rogers," The Mechanic greeted him with a hand on his shoulder and the boy straightened up, "didn't expect to see you back so soon. Sure you're healthy enough?" he asked him with a sly sort of wink and Rogers blushed slightly for some reason. He then coughed and puffed out his chest a little.

"I'm stronger than I look. A night out on the town isn't going to kill me."

"Hope not, kid," The Mechanic said and nodded for them both to follow.

They followed him to the elevator. The operstor started to follow them on, but was stopped by a hand held up to which he nodded and let the doors close.

"I think I'm capable of working an elevator without assistance," The Mechanic said with a snort and then began to do so. "So, Steve, meet my new pal Bruce."

"Nice to meet you," Steve said, holding out a bony hand. Bruce made sure to shake it carefully, but not so lightly as to offend the obvious spitfire of a young man. Steve looked back and forth between him and The Mechanic with a slight, studious gleam in his eyes. "S'he here for the fondue?" he asked with a slight nod of his head. Bruce furrowed his brow while The Mechanic's lips twitched upward at the edges.

"He's here to discuss business," was The Mechanic's answer as the elevator door opened and he gestured for them to step out in front of him.

Just outside of the elevator was a lobby for some other joint. Either it was an extension of the club downstairs or a separate one. Bruce wasn't sure yet. Maybe it was another casino – the kind not on the up-and-up where bookies and hardened gamblers bet everything for nothing. Whatever it was, the lobby didn't open directly into it like upstairs. There was a wall and large double doors so it was exclusive and not for prying eyes, making Bruce think all the more that it wasn't as savory as the rest of The Arc was lauded to be.

"Evening, sir," the young woman at the desk said with a friendly smile at The Mechanic and Steve. She then gave him a quick glance over.

"He's with me, Friday," The Mechanic said to her. She gave him another glance and then smiled brightly before looking back at Steve.

"Miss Martinelli will show you to your table, Mr. Rogers," she said to Steve and then nodded to a young woman.

She came over, gave them a perky, "This way, gentleman," and led them all three into the mystery room. Although, Bruce was fairly certain this place was actually owned, or at least operated, by The Mechanic himself and he'd only followed as a curtesy rather than barging in.

"Have a good evening, Rogers," The Mechanic said to him with a one finger salute as Martinelli led him away. "Mind your asthma," he heckled and Steve glanced back at him with small scowl and roll of his eyes. "He's a good kid," he then said to Bruce.

"Emphasis on kid, I'd say," Bruce replied as he narrowed his eyes to follow the young man.

He was led to a table where he saw Natasha was sat at with a pretty-faced man with dark hair. Natasha got up from her seat and Steve took it instead. Bruce scrunched his face at the exchange.

"Don't worry," The Mechanic said. "He's free, white, and twenty-one. He's just got a few dozen health issues that keep him on the scrawny side. Shall we?" Bruce looked back at him to see him with his hand held out in gesture for him to stop studying whatever it was Natasha had gotten herself tangled up in and get back to following him instead.

"Right," Bruce said with a nod. "Lead the way."

He did lead the way - well, they walked side by side - but Bruce couldn't help but continue to look around at the space he'd found himself in. There were some betting tables here and there, but it wasn't the seedy gambler's haven he'd expected. In fact, some were innocently playing gentleman's games. Actually, on closer inspection, it almost looked like a gentleman's club. Only, it also was like any other cocktail lounge complete with tables, a band, dancing— Oh.

Bruce's throat went dry and he swallowed hard against the sandpaper texture of it as they walked past the dance floor. It looked like any other dance floor, lovers or would-be-lovers stepping in rhythm using whatever the latest dance step was called with their bodies and cheeks pressed together as close as was publicly decent. The only difference was there were no couples to be seen where a woman was present. Bruce blinked and swallowed again.

"Okay there, Bruce?" The Mechanic's voice was a sudden and silky presence in his ear that caused the small hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end. Okay wasn't really the word, but he nodded. "Good," he said as he stopped, held open a curtain that covered another elevator, and then waited for him to enter first when the doors opened. "Because I'd be disappointed if the exclusive, invitation-only, and entirely upstanding Gentlemen's Club residing in Stark Towers was to suddenly have its reputation tarnished by a stool pigeon."

"I—" Bruce faltered. "I wouldn't. Honest."

"I didn't think you'd be the type," The Mechanic replied to that, looking him over in a way that wasn't exactly helping things after his little shock. "But can never be too careful. And I took a pretty big gamble on letting you see without knowing more about you."

"No, I… understand," Bruce said uneasily. "I was just a little caught off guard. I've heard of these kinds of places. I've just never been in one." The other man gave a small, considering hum. "So Natasha's an escort for… these particular clients?" he guessed. The elevator opened again and there was another curtain.

"She is," was the answer as The Mechanic opened it. "She hangs out with the client publicly for a bit of appearance's sake and then escorts him to where he needs to be discreetly."

Bruce stepped into a spacious office with a breathtaking view of the city. Bruce blinked. This didn't make sense as the office of a night club owner no matter how popular as they were usually small and on the same floor as the main level. The secret elevator maybe made sense if he wanted to quickly check on his little club within a club or—maybe bring somebody to his office for a little more privacy, he suddenly thought with another hard swallow as he wondered about that connotation given the circumstances.

"Drink?" He was broken from his thoughts by the question.

"Ah… no," he answered, watching the other man pour himself one at his bar. "Thanks, but no. I don't… I don't really drink. I already had more than enough downstairs."

"You only had one," The Mechanic said and Bruce wondered just how long he'd been on his radar for him to know that. "You're not kidding with the no drinking thing."

"Yeah, well," Bruce said with a twist of his head as he looked back at the night skyline, "you can thank my father for my lack of social manners. He was a violent drunkard and I'd really rather not talk about it."

He turned back to look at the other man. The Mechanic frowned and looked down at the drink in his hand. He then set it down on the bar and crossed towards a sitting lounge, gesturing for Bruce to take a seat if he'd like.

"Well, then," he said, "how about we talk about why you're here." Bruce crossed over and took a seat at the far end of a couch adjacent to the armchair the other man had sat in. "Cigarette?"

"That I _could_ stomach," Bruce said with a nod, not about to turn down the high dollar ones this man likely carried. He took the little stick of nicotine proffered to him and held it between his lips. He started to reach for his own lighter on instinct only to be waved off by the offer of the other man's instead. He leaned forward, eyes fixed on the steady hand holding the small contraption before leaning back again. "Thanks." He nodded as he lit his own cigarette and the pocketed his lighter.

"So, first order of business, who's your source?"

"Rick," Bruce said, pulling the cigarette away from his lips and blowing out the smoke. "In Paris."

"You get around." The Mechanic eyed him curiously and Bruce snorted.

"You have no idea." He shook his head. "Not sure I've been anywhere for more than six weeks in the past couple of years."

"Which tells me either you're trying to outrun someone or find someone."

"Maybe a little of both."

"Noted," The Mechanic said with a calculating glance. "And Rick seems to think I've got a way of helping you do that or he wouldn't have bothered sending you my way." Bruce shrugged. "So then, what is it exactly you're trying to do?"

"Clear my name," Bruce answered evenly, leaning forward to put his cigarette out in the ashtray on the coffee table.

"Huh. Honestly, most people come looking for a way to start over or keep running. You want to stop?"

"Yes," Bruce responded. "I'm don't think I want to go back," he hedged, "but I'm tired of running."

"So what is it you didn't do?" The Mechanic raised an eyebrow.

Bruce looked down and then away. He always needed a few seconds to gather his constitution on the matter.

"Have you heard of Thaddeus Ross?"

"Heard of him?" he choked out in derisive disbelief. "Hate the guy."

"I was best friends with his daughter, Betty" Bruce continued and the other man's eyes widened. "Something horrible happened to her."

"I've heard about it," The Mechanic interrupted gently. "Hate him maybe, but she didn't deserve that."

"No, she didn't," Bruce said bitterly. "And her father blamed me. Started a practical manhunt to have me prosecuted because I couldn't give an alibi. He never liked me, but I never expected he'd think I could be the kind of monster who'd do something like that. You see, I'd stopped seeing Betty shortly before that and he thought maybe—"

"Maybe you were a jealous lover? Violently angry from being spurned?" The Mechanic guessed. Bruce gave a rueful nod. "Well, it's happened before. And you didn't have an alibi," he started in a cautious tone.

"I didn't say I didn't have an alibi," Bruce corrected. "I said I couldn't _give_ an alibi." The Mechanic's look became sharp and calculating and, unless it was his imagination or a trick of the light, almost predatory. "Not one that wouldn't cause other problems, anyhow." Bruce sighed. "To make a long story short I've been stuck between a rock and a hard place for a little over two years now and I'm tired. I just want to find the bastard who really did this and move on with my life. I just want to see the real monster responsible for this get what they deserve. But mostly I'm just tired."

The Mechanic's face softened drastically and he got up from his chair and crossed to the window. Bruce studied him carefully: the way his arm rested against the pane and the way his firm body tensed and relaxed again and again. He wondered what the man was thinking.

"What you're asking isn't an easy thing to do," he finally said with a sigh of his own.

He didn't say anything else for long enough that Bruce had a feeling he'd gone somewhere into his own mind. He thought he heard him mumble something under his breath, but he wasn't sure. Bruce got up and crossed over to stand beside him at the window.

"I wonder what he's like," he said conversationally.

"Who?"

"It's a hell of a building for a guy mostly known for weapon production." Bruce shrugged. "Just wondering what Stark is like."

"He's probably so rich he doesn't know what to do with half of it. Probably lonelier than a forgotten man. Probably looking for a way to make up for things he could have prevented if he hadn't been, well, him." There was conviction in his voice that gave Bruce pause even as it made a chill run down his spine.

"Sounds damned miserable." Aside from the wealth, Bruce could relate to those feelings.

"People like him usually are, but they make do." He saw The Mechanic glance at him from the corner of his eye and he looked to see one brow raised curiously. "Why do you care?"

"Call it professional interest. Before everything went to hell, I was a Professor of Physics at Culver University. Believe it or not, I have a PHD and I specialize in physics at the nuclear level."

The Mechanic turned completely towards him. His look was one of surprise and awe both. Bruce faltered back slightly.

"Are you telling me you're Dr. Banner?" The Mechanic asked. Bruce was even more startled than before. " _Dr. Robert Banner_? Because that's the only nuclear physicist that I can think of with a connection to Culver."

"Uh… I…" Bruce blinked. "Bruce is my middle name. You could only know about me if you've read one of my published papers." He then glanced long and hard at the man. "Why would anyone read my work unless-" His eyes darted around the room as the puzzle pieces snapped into place. The spacious office not attached to the club, the secret elevator, his conviction… "Unless you're someone like Tony Stark." He looked back at the man with a tentative expression.

"Maybe you should have listened to Natasha," he said with a thin smile that gave away the answer without saying as much.

"Maybe I should have," Bruce said as his head spun a little. "I've heard of double crosses before, but nothing like this. I'm beginning to think Rick is crazy."  


"He is," Stark said with a small bark of laughter. Then his eyes darkened slightly as they searched Bruce like he might fight some answer he needed. "And he's the one that double crossed you by sending you to me." Bruce furrowed his brow while Stark sighed and looked out the window. "Here's the deal, Dr. Banner. I have a lot of reasons for none of this to get out to the public. It's the reason why I let others like Obadiah Stane manage Stark Industries while I just come up with the ideas. Tony Stark doesn't enjoy having his photo taken, he isn't someone who plays well with others, and he's currently very happy with a Miss Virginia Potts who really is just his private secretary. It takes a good deal of effort to keep the masses from knowing about The Mechanic. A very select few know the truth and fewer still know both sides of that truth."

"I think I can follow," Bruce said evenly. "You can't let me leave this room with that kind of information. Not without some kind of collateral or arrangement."  


"Actually," Stark turned to him again, "I'm going to let you out the way you came in."

"No catch?" Bruce couldn't really believe it, so he didn't. Things didn't work like that.

"Look," Stark said and once again Bruce was struck by the silky quality of the other man's voice. It was warm and inviting and the kind of voice a person would give anything to hear under different circumstances; and Bruce had a pretty good feeling many had. "Something tells me you've had a lot of tough breaks in your life and call me crazy, beautiful, but I'm not about to be the one to add to 'em."

Stark looked at him with such surprising, dizzying tenderness that belied his somewhat brash exterior Bruce wasn't even sure what was happening until Stark's lips were firmly on his, a hint of alcohol in the taste that managed to intoxicate him rather than burn. Bruce practically melted into it. It had been so long since he'd had this: the kind of touch, the kind of kiss he craved. And none of the few and far between had felt even half as good as the electricity that seemed to come off of them both in currents so strong they could light up the whole Manhattan skyline. To go on kissing Stark would probably be a slow and dangerous insanity, but a voice in his head screamed to go on anyhow.

"I'm _not_ the guy you need," Stark pulled away first and looked at him intently.

"I'm starting to think you are," Bruce challenged, driven by pure instinct and not his usual careful guard. "I think it's true that if you can't help me, no one can."

"Maybe it's better that way." Stark was searching his face again.

"Something tells me you know as well as I do that's not true." It was a hunch made stronger by the look he got from the other man as a result of that statement. Bruce searched his face in return. "Will you help me?"

Stark didn't answer for so long a moment that he was almost certain the answer was going to be no just the same.

"I might get used to having you around," he finally said in a warning tone. His hand came up to his cheek and Bruce glanced down through his lashes to track the movement of it before meeting Stark's eyes again. "Brilliant. Easy on the eyes. I could really go for a guy like you. And you should know when I really want something, I play for keeps."

Bruce's eyes widened at the sentiment. It was one thing to live your life wanting the things you couldn't have, but another entirely to have one of those things, as unexpected as it was, want you back.

"You might not like that if you try," Bruce gave his own word of warning. Stark just looked him over and then, when Bruce was expecting his lips again, the hand fell from his cheek.

"I've got about five minutes before I need to make another round through The Arc." He glanced at his watch and walked over to the bar to grab his forgotten drink. Bruce watched him with wonder to his answer and longing for a solution to a very different kind of problem. "My offer still stands. You leave tonight and decide the gamble isn't worth it, then you're free to go. But if you still think you didn't get a bum steer then come back tomorrow and we can discuss the leads you've turned up already. Ask Natasha to escort you."

Bruce blinked and it was like the spell was broken long enough for his instincts to return: the instincts to fold when the stakes got too high. Then again, maybe that was the real reason he hadn't cleared his name yet. Maybe he needed The Mechanic to fix matters with his high risk methods.

Or maybe he would always be a fool. Maybe he wanted to stick around and find out if he could get used to a guy like Stark.

Bruce watched the other man set the empty glass down. Taking a deep breath in, he crossed the space until he was directly in Stark's, tasting the leftover of that usually-repulsive sin like a sweet fruit. Stark gripped him tightly and devoured him like he was the fruit with a nectar he had to have every last drop of. 

At last they pulled away, chests heaving together in a vulgar fashion like a prelude of what Bruce's body really wanted. He looked at Stark’s slightly stunned expression with a small, wry smile at having taken the man by surprise. Something told him that wasn't an easy feat. 

"Just a little something to remember me by in case I take you up on your offer," he said, backing away.

Stark blinked several times. His eyes then trailed the expanse of Bruce's body from head to toe and back again. A leer slowly spread across his face.

"Sweetheart, after that all bets are off. Even if I have to chase you down myself."

Bruce ducked his head and smiled at the man's declaration, or maybe the way his eyes had shamelessly undressed him, but it wouldn't be necessary for Stark to chase him down. He was going to place his bets on Tony Stark and hope for a little luck for once. He'd definitely be back at The Arc tomorrow night. 

**Author's Note:**

> Cue the paper thin and riddled with holes noir adventure our ~~star-crossed~~ lovers find themselves in - filled with revelations, secrets, deceit, greed, plot twists that aren't really all that unexpected, interference from the law man, danger, more smoking, and everybody's favorite Hayes' Code feature: [implied sex here - because seriously they just went into a room together and shut the door so what the hell do you think they're about to do, review board? play gin rummy?]. 
> 
> I suppose this might take place in the same universe as Casablanca since I just had to go and shout out to Rick (which I thought would be clever since, you know, Bruce knows a Rick). And Sam is on piano, ain't I clever? Somebody should probably revoke my A03 account.
> 
> I was trying to do 'a thing' with the way this story unfolds, like a subtle parallel imagery thing, but I probably failed so I'll pretend I didn't try to do 'a thing' lol. 
> 
> And idek with Stark's double life in this (although semi inspired by the original comics where he wasn't publicly known as Iron Man) or the idea of Stark having some top-secret gay lounge or you know HIDING IT ALL IN HIS OWN TOWER instead of somewhere discreet just IDEK with _any_ of this. *overthinks everything*


End file.
